purgatory

I had heard about it. I had seen it on tv. yet until today it was only a myth widely circulated that insidiously had been feeding parents' guilt for decades. but it is true. it exists. the impetuous juvenile screaming, the rolling, the kicking, the untimely regurgitating, kindergarten unveils evil and impassioned pleas for mercy. after literally breezing into the first two days, Sean and Will have finally entered school purgatory. I tried to grapple with panic and barricade my sons with I love yous but the contamination was inevitable. I soaked up into 15 minutes of emotional plunder as enthusiasm smashed in my arms. "they will be fine" my husband says. I lean on him. I can barely say a word but I know. I know they will.

handle it with care

when faced with a search for truth or significance in my sons' first day at school, I am unable to articulate or reflect whatever was going on in my mind. it was a beautiful day in August. the checklist was completed. I was ready to let go. I really was. and ready to trust life. yet following my children's jaunty footsteps I had this lingering apprehension approaching the very moment when everything I taught my kids would be revealed. I can't help thinking that behind Sean and Will's teacher's friendly glasses lies an intense scrutiny of how I've been raising my sons. I have spent 1.281 days on this assignment. I have been imperfect. irrational. nurturing. firm. and loud. very loud. but I did the best I could. I know it is time now to share it with the world. so please. handle it with care.

first day at school

last days of summer

it is about the moment, not the circumstances. it's about the people, not the scenery. it's about truth, and not about perfection. instants of gleeful nonsense, innocuous reflections of the soul, unabashed postures and peculiar faces wrapped in 3.5 X 4.2 in. sheet films. it embodies the essence of now without tainting it. the confluence of emotions, whether you're waddling and quaking like a duck or reluctantly trying to look natural, is framed and extended indefinitely. the evidence of our ever substantial need to treasure what we had.

I love polaroids. because this is exactly how I want my life to be like.

some days are good

I beamed at his awkward attempt at affection. he'd just told me I was beautiful. he never does that. I tried to remain unaffected but I couldn't help it. my face radiated in a thousand tickling sparkles. he noticed it and teased me. I laughed at his indelicacy. and at my own inability to manufacture cool. I went back to more important business. my udon. at Kunitoraya. followed a movie on the Champs-Elysees. and a delightful walk through Le Bon Marché department store. some days are good. and you can't predict it. whether sunlights are flooding in or rain is pouring down, sometimes everything blends in so seamlessly that it is almost indecent. and everything is beautified.

ping-pong

my husband is back. I seem to be incapable of defusing the tension of the last 14 days of single-parenting. and I thought I was allowed to express my semi-complete depletion of energy. but the man is not responsive. I should not be surprised. but I am. and I hate it. the feeling is daunting but not unfamiliar. it's amazing. my ability at relishing every moment I spend with him with rhapsodic enthusiasm and the next minute wish we had never met. I'm ping-ponging in and out of happy marriage trying not to fall from the perch where I now sit. I was doing so great, wasn't I? squeezing every last drop of juice out of summer and laying down a subtle imprint in my mind of what life is supposed to be like. I thought I had figured it all out. maybe I was too naive. maybe it's just PMS.

did you know that

dogs can get severely constipated from suffering emotional distress? never in my life had I imagined I would be buying laxatives for my dog. never.

parc Andre Citroen

life is good

self portrait challenge - little me

my captivating and pigheaded mind assimilates names and circumstances like a little sponge absorbing fluid. I know how to charm people with my endearing mug and blooming composure. I have an earnest appetite for attention. and love. I already have an accurate sense of empathy but cannot define the value of the things I own. I lie. I fall asleep as soon as I am belted in my car seat and am unable to endure more than a 5 minutes delay. I distinctively understand two different languages and verbalize my feelings with articulate sentences but express my dissatisfaction only with intense whining. I can sit in a sulk for hours if I don't get what I want. some people say I'm spoiled. and it hurts me. I use my imagination. I have an inner compass that gravitates toward creativity. I watch too much tv. and I long for solitude. I am 3 years old. my name is Will. and I look insanely a lot like my mother when she was my age.